The Fall of the False Prince and Princess of Winterfell
by Rhaegal Nymeria Stark
Summary: A retake of my "Terrible Fate" Theon could feel the young prince on his back, knees digging in, and felt the blade of his sword at his neck, the prince's vengeful words echoing in his ears along with Jeyne's please for his life.


Disclaimer: Own nothing

**The Fall of the False Princess and Prince of Winterfell:**

The wind blew more fiercely over the valley, far more coldly and cruelly than it ever had before. The freezing wind made the emerald green grass and bright green leaves on the trees and on the ground shake and blow at its might, but the two unmoving figures standing in front of each other did not flinch. The two figures, who were a man and a woman, only reacted to seeing one another.

The night was dark, and the only light available were the bright stars littering the sky, and the strangely large and eerily white moon above them, its light refracting against the fearsome, gloomy and deadly looking mountains behind the woman.

Rickon knew that the woman before him was not his sister. She might have looked like his sister-had the same long dark, straight hair as his sister, might have had the same pale blue eyes as his sister, might even have had the same pale skin, height and build as his sister, but she was _not _his big sister, Arya, no matter how much he perhaps wanted her to be.

Having aged by ten years since he last saw Jeyne Poole; a servant girl at Winterfell and friend to his older sister Sansa Stark, and now being a hardened and savage man of four and ten-no longer being the innocent and foolish three year old he had once been, and bearing a strong hatred of man, it was not without strong difficulty that he was able not to strike the dark haired woman, but only because Osha taught him not to raise his hand to a woman-lest the woman were to attack him first.

Jeyne Poole was not Rickon's sister, Arya. He knew that. And that was why he immediately hated her. He felt his teeth clench together. He wanted his big sister back, and this was not his big sister.

The woman's pale and lost eyes looked up at him. "Who are you?" She asked, pained, "You look like Lord Robb Stark. But you can't be…he's dead."

Rickon raised an eyebrow-the violent urge to hurt this girl returning.

Not only did this foolish girl commit a cruel jape just now by reminding him of his dead brother, but just the sight of her eyes made him angry. She looked like Arya-but her eyes infuriated him. Arya would never be as weak willed as this girl was. Arya was wild and free. Her eyes would never look like this bitch's eyes.

But instead of snarling in his fury, he forced himself to be satisfied to just growl out, "Yes….yes he is dead. I am not Robb Stark. I am his younger brother. Rickon Stark of Winterfell, first of my name."

Jeyne Poole's dead eyes became wide. "Rickon?" She whispered, as if she was afraid of someone hearing, "Is it really you, Lord Stark?"

Rickon just stared, no mercy, no amusement as he sneered, "Who did you think it was? You said it yourself. Robb is dead. So is Eddard Stark, my father. I can't tell you where Bran Stark is, so that leaves you with only one possibility of who I am. The youngest Stark child of Winterfell. Is that enough, or do I need anymore proof that you are a complete incompetent wench?"

Jeyne Poole shuddered at the harsh, cruel words. She trembled before the young lord in terror. "Please," She whimpered, "Lord Rickon, I beg of you to help us. We've run from Winterfell and-"

"We?" Rickon asked, lifting an eyebrow at the girl, "Who is 'we,' girl? I see only you."

Jeyne looked around the dark, empty, bleak and cold forest and field surrounding the two of them, suddenly very afraid to speak. She spoke at last, realizing she probably would have no choice, "I mean myself and my friend…..Theon Greyjoy."

Rickon didn't move for several minutes when heard that. Theon Greyjoy? The traitor? The man that killed those two orphan boys that the farmer took in? Rickon's brilliant green eyes were now the ones to widen.

Before the good nobility towards women that Osha had taught Rickon could take hold of him, the young man's anger boiled over. Shooting his left black gloved arm, grabbing Jeyne by her pure white, but blood stained silk shirt, and dragged her close to him so that his now grimacing face was inches from her panicked one.

"Theon," RIckon spat at the petrified girl, "Where is the filthy Greyjoy now?"

Jeyne now seemed to be ultimately about to faint from fear. Her eyes went wild and she was quaking in the young, savage lord's hand. "Please!" Jeyne sobbed out, "Theon has changed! He has! He's not the same man he was. He's been through enough!"

Rickon gripped Jeyne's shirt harder and lifted her almost off the ground as he snapped, "Enough?! The man that exiled Bran and myself from our home has been through enough?! I've been through enough, and so has Bran! So have all Starks! And you dare take my sister's name?!"

Jeyne looked startled when hearing that. She shook her head when she understood. "No, no," She protested, "I never pretended willingly to be Arya Stark, Rickon! What you heard was Ramsay Bolton keeping me as a hostage, pretending that I was Arya! He named me after her, he called me her name constantly….I sometimes even forgot who I was!" Jeyne's voice strained as she tried to get Rickon to see reason, "I even thought I was Arya a few times."

Rickon almost laughed, his tone becoming dark and cruel, "You could never be Arya." He released her, throwing her hard to the ground and she cried out, afraid, "You could never be Arya," He repeated, looking away dismissively, "You're too weak. You heard the Bolton bastard's call and you did as you were told, just like you always do. But Arya," Rickon's eyes lightened as he thought of his sister, "Arya would never have done what someone told her to do, based on beatings. She was too strong."

Rickon remembered his sister well, even though the last time he had seen her he had only be of three years, and he remembered her strength, her will, her love of freedom and adventure, her courage.

When Rickon had been a small child, he had seen his sister Arya as a giant…even though she was only a few years older than he. She had been everything a woman wasn't "supposed" to be. It was why Rickon never had understood his other older sister, Sansa. Jeyne and Sansa had been too much alike. They acted strange.

They both seemed to think so much about princes and living in castles, pretty dresses and being queens. What was so important about that? Sansa and Jeyne loved dolls and sewing.

Jeyne herself was a doll; trying to be like Sansa all the time, and now she was trying to be like Arya. Well she could never be either. She was nothing but a doll.

Rickon turned and looked back at the still trembling Jeyne, weak on the ground. He sneered, "You are not Arya. You are nothing more than a doll for my sister, Sansa to play with. Now where is Greyjoy?"

His cold and nearly mad eyes stared into Jeyne's own and the servant girl knew that she had no choice. She closed her eyes, anguished as she let the words that would doom Theon pass her lips, "He's hiding behind that hill of tree roots. Over there." She nodded to the fifth tree by a large gray boulder, peppered with grime.

Rickon glanced at the tree, seeing its large frame and noticing the great amount and size of the roots where Theon supposedly was hiding. Before Rickon could step towards the tree, Jeyne suddenly screamed, "Theon! Theon, run! He's going to kill you!"

Rickon swiveled back around and was about to raise a hand again, this time with the full intent to beat the girl, but his attention was pulled away from the wrecked figure on the ground when he heard movement behind him; the sound of someone moving and running.

Rickon groaned, rotating again and saw a haggard shape galloping through the trees. The young lord growled, grabbing the hilt of his sword, unsheathing the steel blade and running forward into the woods after the wretch.

He ignored Jeyne's scream of "Rickon, no, please!" And tore off faster into the forest, blade now aiming at the retreating form's back. Something that caught Rickon's attention as he got close to the running body was very odd. Maybe it was just the light from the moon and stars, but he almost could swear that Theon's hair was white. He decided he was imagining it and just ran faster.

Eventually, he catapulted himself at the running figure and jumped up, slammed his knees into the man's back, and they toppled over together. As Rickon steadied himself on top of the creature below him, he looked down and saw that he was indeed correct. This couldn't be Theon. Theon had dark brown hair, not white hair. This man, whoever he was, had hair as ashen as the ghostly moon overhead.

Rickon decided that this was a different man than the one he thought he had been chasing, and lifted himself up off of him, gripping the man's right shoulder with his left hand, turning him over violently and aiming the end of the blade inches from the man's throat with his right arm.

"Who are you?!" he demanded, glaring at the currently very frightened prey before him. He observed the man's face closely. He was very near the man's head, so he no longer needed to rely on the small amount of light given to him from the dark sky above, and took a very careful survey of this man's features.

Rickon squinted as the man shuddered against him, clearly believing he was going to be killed in a slow and painful way. It was strange. He was sure that he had seen this man from somewhere before. He looked absurdly familiar, but what was unsettling was that he appeared like someone Rickon was sure he had known once, but the man seemed….well, dead. This was a man, and yet what appeared below him seemed to be akin to a creature that had died and then had been brought back; a body that was alive, yet wasn't. A living, breathing and moving shell without a soul.

"Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?" Rickon demanded icily, eyes becoming menacing.

The white haired man said sadly, stuttering, eyes mirror a shattered being, "Ree….Ree….Theon, my lord. Theon." Rickon stared, now not moving. He was now completely unsure what to do. What? This was Theon Greyjoy? How could it be?

"What's happened to you?" Rickon hissed, distrusting of what he was hearing. This man couldn't be who he said he was. He just couldn't be.

The man who claimed to be Theon smiled sadly and Rickon blanched with horror when he saw no teeth in the man's mouth. "Much has happened." Was the reply, "So much has happened since you and Bran fled from Winterfell. So much." Tears were beginning to form in the pallid haired man's eyes and Rickon was beginning to get the sickening sensation that this was indeed Theon.

He moved to get off of the drastically misshapen man, only to unintentionally place his left knee against where the man's length was supposed to be.

Rickon didn't move when he realized that his leg felt nothing between the man's legs. He looked down at the man's lower torso and deciding to be particularly cruel in his inspection, slammed his knee all the way against the segment between Theon's legs.

The results were not what Rickon had been expecting. Theon grunted in pain and jumped a little, but he did not scream and he did not curl up in agony. Rickon could feel a drop in his stomach. "Seven hells," he whispered, "Who cut you?"

Someone had removed Theon's….someone had taken Theon's manhood from him; in _every_ sense of the word. Rickon, at that moment forgot any vengeful plans he might have concocted and just stared at this macabre creature.

When he and Bran had had to run from Winterfell, escaping Theon who had betrayed their family, one of the many things the boy had fantasized about had been what exactly he would do to Theon, should he ever come upon him. All of those fantasies were made up of chopping off limbs, beating him within an inch of the Ironborn's life, smashing his head against a rock till his skull split open-and yes, a part of him even thought about _gelding _the man, but seeing him now…like this…..all murderous thoughts that had been aimed at Theon had now evaporated.

He didn't know what to do now.

He slowly got up and picked himself off the…..of what _used _to be a man and stood back, sword still in front of him, though numbly he wondered why in seven hells he was holding it. He certainly didn't need it. Not after seeing what state Theon was in.

"Get up." Rickon growled, patience now gone. When he saw Theon wasn't moving, just still shaking and sobbing, he spat, "GET UP!"

Rickon didn't know where his anger came from; he just knew that he felt cheated by what he was seeing. Someone had gotten to Theon first, and someone had tortured him before Rickon could get to him and make him pay. It felt like the gods had cheated him out of his justice.

Trembling at Rickon's rage, Theon slowly got up, clearly very weak. Only now, as he stood did Rickon see in the moonlight that this very changed man was also missing several fingers, as well as evident patches of skin scarred. Rickon was not a physician or a professional torturer, but from what he had seen so far, the young lord could assess that someone had taken pieces of Theon's flesh off.

Theon's sorrowful green eyes met Rickon's dangerous forest green ones. The youngest son of Winterfell said in a low and cautionary tone, "Do not toy with me, Theon. Who did this to you?"

The creature that personally, to Rickon, had the appearance that seemed like the animated corpse of a man looked like he was going to regurgitate at the question. But he finally, in a sullen voice groaned out, "The same man that stole Jeyne Poole's name and forced her to pretend that she was Arya Stark. Ramsay Bolton."

The wild lord Rickon snorted. Bolton? Weren't the Boltons supposed to be banner men of the Starks? He tried not to laugh out harshly. It seemed that the entirety of the Realm was trying to wipe the Starks out.

How lovely.

"The Boltons are traitors like you?" Rickon asked, inquiring for more information.

Theon winced. "Ramsay Bolton tried to look for you and Bran." He shuddered, "He talked about all the things he would do to you if he ever caught either of you."

Rickon supposed that those words were meant to frighten him. They didn't. He actually was trying not to smirk again at that thought. Someone wanted to try and kill him? Ooh, terrifying. Kingdoms were after him, armies were after him; he was not going to be intimidated by a single man who happened to be very good at flaying people alive, just because the man was a bully like the dead Joffrey Baratheon.

"I'm terrified," Rickon said dryly, eyes lowering to Theon's thighs, "Was he the one that removed your manhood?" The question caused Theon to almost burst out sobbing. He was barely containing his whimpers of "Yes."

Rickon nodded. "Alright," He said, now calming down, "As much as I want to kill you, I won't. At least not yet. I want answers, and both you and Jeyne are going to give them to me."

Before Theon could speak again, Rickon raised the sword and gestured its blade towards the direction that they had come from and Theon, knowing full well what happened when he didn't obey someone, turned and walked back to where Jeyne presumably still was.

He heard Rickon's footsteps a few inches behind him. He didn't know what was going to happen to him. He was scared. After all the evils that Ramsay Bolton had subjected him and Jeyne Poole to, death in all honesty would be a mercy. He couldn't fuck anyone anymore-Ramsay had taken his ability to do so, he barely had any teeth left, and the same went for his fingers and some toes. His skin was barely recovering from flaying and his hair would never be the same color as it once was. He was not who he used to be and death would alleviate him of all this torment.

He didn't say a word however, as Rickon herded him back to where they entered the forest. He saw Jeyne up ahead, however, his eyes widened when he saw someone standing behind her, with a knife to Jeyne's throat.

Theon, in his shock, wanted to run to his side and evade the youngest Stark heir, but remembered that there was a sword at his back. As the two men got closer to the foreboding field, Theon made out two figures standing on the nearly bald landscape. One of them looked like they were restrained by the other. The one that was being held captive, who Theon assumed was Jeyne, had her head pulled back by the other figure who had their arm wrapped round Jeyne's throat. When they were only five steps away from the rocks where the shapes stood, the once proud Ironborn saw who it was that was holding Jeyne hostage. It was the wildling woman; Osha.

Theon's whole frame, his toes, fingers, skin and teeth had been assaulted and assailed without pity, but his eyes were never harmed by the Bolton bastard. Theon could observe Osha perfectly well, though he did not want to.

The wildling woman had not changed in all these years. Her body was still swathed in black dark brown and grey furs, she still had those wise yet condescending eyes, seemingly mocking, her countenance odd given Osha was actually quite beautiful in a wild, rugged, dark and savage way that he honestly couldn't decipher.

Observing the wildling restraining Jeyne, the escaped former Reek noticed the glimmer of the silver blade to the Poole maiden's neck, right in the front at the base of her throat. Jeyne shook, plainly scared witless. Osha however, showed no signs of giving a care for Jeyne's terror. The wildling survived completely on ruthlessness only and would not yield to any signs of fright from her enemies or even her possible enemies.

"Theon," Osha growled out when she saw the Greyjoy approach, and sneered out, "_My Lord._" When Theon and Rickon moved closer and Osha saw the Greyjoy more clearly, her cynical grimace loosened to form a horrified expression. Theon tried not to flinch. To be honest, Osha's alarm wounded him far more than her mocking his title. After all, it wasn't like his title hadn't been incessantly destroyed and defiled _before_.

The wildling then turned to Rickon, met his gaze and almost whispered, Theon and the threatening lord behind him barely hearing her, "What's happened to him, Rickon?"

Theon turned his head a little, wanting to listen to what the young wolf had to say. He only noticed Rickon look at him and shake his head. "I don't know." The Stark answered, bewildered, "I have no idea. Only that Ramsay Bolton tortured him." He then moved his head to stare at Osha as he went on, "But Osha, his fingers and toes have been taken, so have his teeth, and so have pieces of his skin….and Osha….his…..his…cock is missing."

Theon scrunched his eyes close. He didn't want Osha's eyes on him. It was bad enough that anyone at all knew about his lost manhood, but to have a woman possess knowledge of it was something far more insulting; even if it was a woman who had angered and resisted him continually without end.

"He…..what?" Osha's appalled words felt like a harsh slap in the face for Theon. He didn't open his eyes but he could sense that he was being stared at by all three other people present.

Finally, Theon could take the condescending questions and prods no longer. He decided to give way before he was pushed farther by these two. "Yes!" He spat out, tears starting to form, "Ramsay Bolton removed my manhood. He cut it off! Then he took the rest of it by taking everything from me," He opened his eyes this time, tear streaming down his miserable face as he glared at Osha, "He took my fingers, my skin, my appearance, my dignity, my will, seven hells, he even took my _name_!" He inhaled, the tears stinging his eyes and hissed out, "But I am still Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands!"

Theon caught the smile on Jeyne's face and his broken heart gave a flutter at the pride now coming off of her. However, his hope didn't last long, when he felt the cold caress of Rickon's blade against the side of his neck.

"Yes you are Theon Greyjoy," Rickon growled behind him, "And therefore, you are still the man that betrayed my family, burned those two boys to death, and imprisoned my brother and me in our own home. And you will pay dearly for what you did, Greyjoy filth."

Theon's conviction crumpled at his maimed feet when those words reached his ears. He had always known that if he were to ever meet Bran or Rickon Stark again, his life would more than likely end in that moment. His thoughts were not helped at all when heard Rickon ask in a deadly quite voice, "So, Osha, what to do with him?"

Osha cocked her head, eyes fixated on the Ironborn. She said, the tone of her words sounding very similar to Rickon's, "I would say death…..had it been years before this. But we cannot kill him now, boy."

At the sensation of the metal against Theon wavering, the former Reek realized that Rickon was astonished by the wildling's reply. "But Osha!" Rickon protested, angry, "He-"

He wasn't able to get his complaint out when Osha cut the young lord off, "Yes, Rickon, I know what he has done. But would you kill him now? Now, like this? Without any dignity or honor?"

Theon's eyes widened. Now this amazed him. Perhaps Osha was capable of mercy after all. Still it seemed Rickon was not. The wolf lord snapped, clearly bristling in rage, "He gave up his honor of his own choice when betrayed our House and killed those two little boys just because Bran and I ran away. So what if he's been horribly tortured, gelded and skinned? He would have done the same to us, given the chance. And do I need to remind you what he would have done to Meera Reed if he had found her at Winterfell?"

Theon tried not to gag at the memory. Yes, yes he would have violated the Reed girl had he run into her when the Stark children were making their escape, and had they not run away, he would have succeeded. But it was different now. After what Theon had seen Ramsay do to women….he knew now that he could never harm another woman ever again after that. What Ramsay had done was too unspeakable to ever repeat. Even if he did lack a cock and his balls, he would never ever look at a woman in a vulgar manner ever again in his life, no matter how short or long it might be.

"What do you have to say for this, Greyjoy?" Rickon sneered, grabbing at the former Reek's white hair and yanking him backwards and putting his menacing face very close to Theon's, "What is your defense, traitor?"

Theon inhaled painfully. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. He had been put through trials of blood, torture and knives for years. For every sin he had committed, there had been a torture that Ramsay had been able to devise for him. Skin being sliced away, teeth torn out, fingers and toes hacked away, and finally, his prized manhood, all of it. There wasn't much left to take away from the broken man. Except for his life.

"Theon….," Rickon growled in warning, more teeth showing.

Rickon's intense gaze burned into the Greyjoy. Theon knew he had to answer. Whether or not he would be beheaded or even tortured again was completely irrelevant. As he stared into the fire that Rickon's bright green eyes held, ready to incinerate Theon to ashes at any moment, the tortured man knew he had no choice. He had come this far; rescued Jeyne Poole from Ramsay, had run far from the overtaken Winterfell, and now it was his time to tell the truth….and to confront his past for all he had done. Even if it meant that he was to die, even if it was for a few moments, he had to redeem himself, at least in the eyes of the youngest wolf lord.

"I….I don't have any excuse, my Lord," Theon finally choked out, feeling tears beginning to increase once again, "I felt that I was an outcast amongst the Starks, but that was no reason for my actions. I was weak. And I have no hope for redemption. I know that. I cannot say anything in my defense, only that if I could do it over and save your home…..make sure you and Bran could stay at Winterfell…if I knew then what I know now….I would have protected you."

Rickon snorted, unaffected by Theon's tears and penitent words. "I'm sure you would have," He spat, "Unfortunately, you didn't protect us. Your time has run out Theon Greyjoy." Rickon brought the edge of his sword close to Theon's throat, "I don't know what will be waiting for you on the other side. The Drown God, the Seven, the Old Gods, that God of Light that I keep hearing so much about, maybe some White Walkers….or something else…..but you will die today."

The silver shank of the sword now was stinging the flesh of Theon's neck. "Are you prepared, Greyjoy?" Rickon asked in a mocking tone, "'What is dead may never die,' am I right? Why fight when you can meet your glorious Drown God?"

Theon tried not to whimper at the sound of his House words being thrown at him without pity, but he was aware that he had carved out his own fate. This was the path he had chosen, and now he had to pay for it, with his life. He had murdered two innocent little boys, run Bran and Rickon out of their home, and had been a pig his whole life and a traitor. The least he could do was offer the youngest Stark heir his life as compensation.

"NO!" Jeyne cried, struggling in Osha's tight hold, "Rickon! My Lord! Don't! He's changed! He's already gone through enough. Please don't! He helped me escape from the bastard Bolton!"

Rickon paused and his arm stilled, the edge of the blade halting as it was only an inch from penetrating the scarred and dismembered man's flesh. Rickon's eyes shifted to look at Jeyne's hysteric face. Both men and Osha watched the woman's frantic eyes plea for Theon's life. Jeyne spoke again, her face appearing like a wild animal's, "Theon has been tortured…the worse things have been done to him; you see it yourself, my Lord," Jeyne stared imploringly at Rickon, "Have mercy…..please…..your father would have."

This appeared to be the wrong thing to use against Rickon. Rickon pivoted and turned his sword on Jeyne, the tip only an inch from the broken woman's left eye.

"You dare speak of my father?" Rickon hissed, voice dripping with spite, "You're lucky that I wish to honor my father at all. Because of my father, I won't skin you alive like Bolton did to all his victims. But make no mistake; if you even breath about my father or use him against me ever again, and I'll take your eyes out before removing your head. Theon will die, whether you like it or not. That decision is not up to you. But for my father's sake, you will not be harmed in any way. I'd advise you to heed my warning and not speak against your Lord."

Having Rickon's harsh and dangerous words thundering in his ears, Theon barely noticed Osha stare at the young Lord, casting a disbelieving and perplexed glare in the young wolf's direction. Even if he hadn't noticed, he certainly didn't miss the wildling's accusatory hiss. "Rickon!" She spat, "What have I taught you about threatenin' and attackin' women?"

Rickon stiffly stopped his movements, appearing flustered. "What?" He snapped, "I'm only warning. I haven't done anything yet. She is defending a traitor and a murderer. If she doesn't want to know what my wrath is like, then she would do better to respect a Lord."

There was grave disappointment in Osha's eyes as she watched the boy she had raised for years. "If that is true, Rickon," Osha said, starting to move away from Rickon, and bringing Jeyne with her, as if to protect the woman from the Stark man's punishment, "Then you do understand that you are actin' exactly like Greyjoy when he took Winterfell. I hope Winterfell is never under your command, young Lord."

Theon turned his head to see Rickon Stark's reaction. What he saw was troubling. The green-eyed wolf was shaking, his teeth clenching together and his arms trembling, making Theon thrash a little, as Rickon was still holding clumps of his white hair in a tight fist. The wolf lord swiveled his head to Theon, his face a visor full of contempt and pure unfiltered hate.

"You're the one that sent my brother and me away." Rickon growled, voice sounding like a beast's snarl more and more, "You're the one that murdered those two village boys, "So why is it that I'm the one that needs stay my hand? You have done nothing to earn my pardon, have you? Don't even try to act like you feel even a semblance of guilt or shame, Greyjoy. You are the one responsible for my and Bran's sorrows."

It remained like that for what seemed like an hour. Theon held in his breath, trying not to panic, then at last, Rickon let his hair go, stepping backwards.

Though the very injured and borderline crippled Theon had been ready to die for his sins, he found that he couldn't stop the release of grateful breath when he felt the proximity between him and Rickon become further.

Rickon was now next to the relieved Osha and Jeyne and the dark Lord just stared and started turning away from Theon. As Theon was about to take that moment to open his mouth and say whatever he could to make Rickon truly believe that he had changed, Rickon sporadically whirled around and moved his arm holding the sword swiftly, and before Theon could even blink; could even contemplate the weight of all he had done to the Starks that he had betrayed, the blade of Rickon's sword was buried up to the hilt inside his stomach.

"That's what you deserve, Greyjoy," Rickon growled into Theon's ear, "That's what you deserve. A cruel, slow and cowardly death."

The shaft of the weapon penetrated Theon's organs. He could feel something being cut within his body and knew several vital parts were going to be permanently lacerated and gutted. Theon heard Jeyne scream his name, and then heard Osha yelling at Rickon. But really, Theon wasn't sure what he heard them say anymore. His vision was beginning to become blurry. He wasn't sure of anything he knew anymore.

He could feel something warm trickling down his stomach to his inner thighs and down his legs….it smelled metallic, like the sword that had cut through him.

Theon walked backwards for a second, feeling his legs become numb. He was starting to feel cold. Rickon, Osha and Jeyne were turning into misshapen globules and as he reversed his steps, he felt the sword's length unsheathe from his flesh, muscle and organs. Each inch of the blade felt like a thousand whip lashes penetrating him and exiting his bleeding body.

Slowly, Theon felt his legs buckle and he began to watch as the ground got closer. He hit ground, face planting in the green grass. Though winter had not yet enveloped the Realm, Theon could feel the icy hot pin pricks of a thousand needles hit him as the sensation of the freezing ground encased and solidified the blood of his face.

His will and conscience began to fade away, but not before hearing Lord Rickon's voice one last time. "Shaggydog," Was the booming order from the wolf prince, "Here's some food for you, boy. A man to eat. Eat all you want. Then again, this isn't much of a man anyway so there probably isn't much for you."


End file.
